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Updated: May 18, 2025
And we exiled fans have got to stick together. Waterall was quivering with fury, disappointment, and the peculiar unpleasantness of being treated by an elderly gentleman like a sack of coals. He stammered with rage. 'You damned old fool, do you realize what you've done? The police will be here in another minute. 'Let them come. 'But what am I to say to them? What explanation can I give?
They would probably have wasted the money in foolishness. And, anyway, a bank which couldn't take care of its money deserved to lose it. Mr Birdsey felt almost a righteous glow of indignation against the New Asiatic Bank. He broke the silence which had followed Benyon's words with a peculiarly immoral remark: 'Well, it's lucky it's only us that's recognized you, he said. Waterall stared.
'My name is Waterall, said the young man. 'I come from New York. The bearded man hesitated. 'My name is Johnson. I used to live in New York. 'Where do you live now, Mr Johnson? asked Waterall. The bearded man hesitated again. 'Algiers, he said. Mr Birdsey was inspired to help matters along with small-talk. 'Algiers, he said.
'I wonder, he said, 'which of us three fans had the greatest difficulty in getting to the bleachers today. I guess none of us found it too easy. The young man shook his head. 'Don't count on me to contribute a romantic story to this Arabian Night's Entertainment. My difficulty would have been to stop away. My name's Waterall, and I'm the London correspondent of the New York Chronicle.
Johnson's face was pale, and the tablecloth crumpled into a crooked ridge under his fingers, but his voice was steady as he replied: 'I don't understand. 'Will you understand if I give you your right name, Mr Benyon? 'What's all this? said Mr Birdsey feebly. Waterall turned to him, the vulturine cast of his face more noticeable than ever.
'I certainly shall. 'But but this fellow came all that way to see the ball-game. It seemed incredible to Mr Birdsey that this aspect of the affair should not be the one to strike everybody to the exclusion of all other aspects. 'You can't give him up. It's too raw. 'He's a convicted criminal. 'He's a fan. Why, say, he's the fan. Waterall shrugged his shoulders, and walked to the telephone.
He was a middle-aged gentleman of high respectability who had been behaving in a very peculiar way. Waterall, flushed and dishevelled, glared at him speechlessly. He gulped. 'Are you crazy? Mr Birdsey tested gingerly the mechanism of a leg which lay under suspicion of being broken. Relieved, he put his foot to the ground again. He shook his head at Waterall.
'Are you proposing that we should hush this thing up, Mr Birdsey? he said coldly. 'Oh, well Waterall rose and went to the telephone. 'What are you going to do? 'Call up Scotland Yard, of course. What did you think? Undoubtedly the young man was doing his duty as a citizen, yet it is to be recorded that Mr Birdsey eyed him with unmixed horror. 'You can't! You mustn't! he cried.
Mr Birdsey was profoundly distressed. He sat tingling and helpless. This was a nightmare. Waterall's level voice spoke at the telephone. 'Is this Scotland Yard? I am Waterall, of the New York Chronicle. Is Inspector Jarvis there? Ask him to come to the phone.... Is that you, Jarvis? This is Waterall. I'm speaking from the Savoy, Mr Birdsey's rooms. Birdsey. Listen, Jarvis.
Benyon spoke. 'One moment. Waterall turned, and found himself looking into the muzzle of a small pistol. He laughed. 'I expected that. Wave it about all you want' Benyon rested his shaking hand on the edge of the table. 'I'll shoot if you move. 'You won't. You haven't the nerve. There's nothing to you. You're just a cheap crook, and that's all.
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